


A Fistful of Sams

by shiphitsthefan



Series: SPN Coldest Hits [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Quantum Leap, Supernatural, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: And They Are Over Other People's Shit, Crossover, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Food, Gen, Group Therapy, Implied Sam Wilson/Sam Winchester, In Here They're Just Sams, M/M, Metafiction, Minor Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your names are Sam and the world stands against you, sometimes all you can do is stand together and complain about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fistful of Sams

**Author's Note:**

> Completely and absolutely unbetaed. This is no one's fault but my own.
> 
> Please do not repost/copy/duplicate this work to other sites. That's called theft.

As far as nondescript meeting places go, this is by far the most boring in several known universes. None of the support group has bothered to venture upstairs, the consensus being that, if the basement is this dull, no one is interested in knowing how monotonous the rest of the building it belongs to is. But it suits the needs of SOOPS just fine, having a flat surface to hold food and drink, a stack of mostly operational folding chairs against a dull cement wall, a podium, and a roof.

The room is quiet in spite of the five people currently within it--Sam Beckett, Samwise Gamgee, Sam Wilson, Sam Winchester, and Samuel Vimes. Each wears what approximates to plainclothes in their respective pockets of the galaxy, though they can’t quite claim the same level of immemorability as their surroundings. They haven’t been meeting together for long, at least not as far as Time is concerned; Sam had only discovered the four wardrobes in a spare room at the Bunker a few months previous. But they’ve quickly found in each other a unique kind of therapy, an escape from the ridiculousness of their odd realities.

There’s also the free food, which anyone can appreciate regardless of personal circumstances.

“Alright,” says Wilson after his watch beeps the hour, “everybody take a seat so we can get started.”

One by one, the four other Sams grab a folding chair and make their way over to form a semi-circle in front of the room. Rather, two Sams grab a chair, and one Sam grabs two, and the fourth Sam sort of hovers and looks apologetic. When everyone is more or less settled and balancing paper plates of food on their laps, Wilson takes his place at the podium and calls the meeting to order.

“Welcome, fellow Sams, and thank you for coming to this month’s session of SOOPS,” he starts. “Before I get Winchester up here to read off the minutes of the last meeting, I wanted to take the opportunity to thank Gamgee for providing refreshments this month. The potato bar is, uh…”

Wilson takes a glance at the overladen folding table, a veritable bounty of spuddery. Potatoes baked. Potatoes fried. Potatoes boiled and mashed and stewed and au gratin. He’s certain the spread is a dietitian's worst nightmare.

Gamgee swallows a mouthful of baked potato. “Oh, you’re very welcome, Mr. Wilson, sir! Potatoes are very important, they are. Mr. Frodo ‘n’ I, we lived on ‘em. Fruit o’ the earth.”

“It’s definitely different. Marked improvement from Vimes' contribution last month, though.”

Vimes rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, dragging his bracer through his mashed potatoes. “It’s not my fault the sausages made everyone else sick. Ankh Morpork inspires an ironclad stomach.”

“And it did demonstrate that Beckett still has a corporeal element,” Winchester points out.

Beckett flickers and groans. “Please don’t remind me that I can’t control my location but can still vomit.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Vimes tells them, annoyed. “Could’ve brought Klatchian.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” says Beckett.

Vimes looks over at him very seriously. “No one does.”

 _“Anyway,”_ says Wilson, getting the meeting back on track, “let’s go over the minutes. Get up here, Winchester.”

The two switch spots, Winchester taking a moment to locate an outlet and plug in his laptop. “Sorry,” he says after opening it up and clearing his throat. “Battery is awful on this thing.”

“I keep telling you that gremlins are more efficient,” says Vimes.

“We don’t _have_ gremlins in this universe,” Winchester says with an annoyed grimace. “And even if we _did_ have gremlins, it’s completely unethical to force them to run mechanical objects.”

“What, like the house elves?” asks Wilson.

“Oh!” Gamgee begins excitedly. “We got elves, too! Well,” he amends, “we did’ve elves, but they’ve all moved out ‘cept for the queen, but she’s in Minas Tirith which is ever so far away ‘n’ Mr. Frodo--”

“We know,” say three of the Sams, except for Vimes, who instead says, “Don’t care.”

Gamgee pops a boiled potato in his mouth and pouts.

“Okay,” Winchester tells them, “all booted up. Now to log into my account and--”

“You got wifi down here?” asks Wilson incredulously.

Winchester grins. “I always have wifi.”

“Handy.”

“I still say this would be easier with good old fashioned lead and parchment,” insists Vimes.

“I’ve got talk-to-text on here,” Winchester explains. “That way, I only have to write down what Gamgee says, then transcribe it into my pre-made template for keeping minutes.”

Gamgee swallows yet another mouthful of potato, this time fried. “Why do it not keep tracka mine?”

“It’s truly a mystery for the ages,” Vimes says, rolling his eyes.

“Okay,” starts Winchester, “here we are. Wilson brought the meeting to order. Vimes was thanked for bringing the food. Beckett leapt out. I read the minutes from the previous meeting. Vimes introduced a motion to change the name of the group from Sams Going No One Else’s Way, hereafter referred to by the acronym SGNOEW, because--”

“I was tired of my wife blessing me for sneezing every bloody time I said it,” says Vimes.

“--because it was impractical. Wilson took suggestions, which were as follows: The Fellowship of the Sams, The Samvengers, Four Sams and a Dwarf--”

“Which ‘m _not,”_ Gamgee reminds them.

“--and Sams Over Other People’s Shit, which we unanimously agreed was the most accurate title for our support group, especially since it is our introductory phrase. I then brought up the issue of needing a regular meeting place because the Bunker wasn’t working out.”

Wilson shakes his head. “I have never heard two people gettin’ it on so loudly.”

“You don’t have to _live_ with it.”

“They ever get you a dog?”

Winchester’s resting frown deepens. “No. No, they haven’t.”

“I keep offering you a dragon,” says Vimes.

“My brother would just shoot it. Or else his boyfriend would smite it.”

Vimes nods. “I keep forgetting you live with a wizard.”

Winchester sighs and continues without correcting him. “Vimes suggested his home, but aforementioned dragons. Gamgee offered _his_ home, but I wouldn’t fit inside.”

“‘N’ I got a lot o’ kids besides,” Gamgee says. He blinks and stares off into space before adding, "A _lot_ o' kids."

“That you do. Where was I?” Sam scans the document and then continues. “Beckett leapt back in and we caught him up--” He pauses and looks around. “Where is Beckett, anyway?”

“Lost in time and space,” says Wilson. “Doctor Who’s got nothin’ on that guy.”

“--we caught him up,” Winchester repeats, “and he--”

Beckett leaps back into the basement. “What did I miss?”

“I was just about to mention that you couldn’t offer a meeting place because--”

Beckett flickers out of the room again.

“--because that.” Winchester takes a deep breath and then continues very quickly so as to not be interrupted again. “Wilson then proposed that we find a neutral place to meet, at which point Vimes remembered that he was owed a deus ex machina by several grateful deities and that he could probably get us all pulled into one spot at least three times. Thus, we tabled the discussion for another time. We were then interrupted by my brother and best friend,” he says through clenched teeth, “because they are animals and can’t stay in their pants for more than five minutes.”

“But it wound up being alright because Beckett threw up so hard he blinked out of existence, and then Gamgee got the shits, so we adjourned,” finishes Wilson. “Now, Winchester, I’m going to take notes because it sounds like you need to vent first, my friend.”

Winchester takes a deep breath as he hands his laptop over to Wilson. “Hi,” he says. “My name is Sam, and I am over other people’s shit.”

“Hi, Sam,” say the others in chorus. “We, too, are over other people’s shit.”

“So we managed to start the Apocalypse again.”

Wilson whistles, long and low. “That’s, what, fifth time in six months?”

“Fourth,” says Vimes, “but have faith. There are plenty of days in the year, after all.”

“And it turns out my dead mom isn’t quite so dead anymore, which broke the Veil, which we literally just fixed. My brother was hoping to get her blessing, but she’s apparently a huge homophobe. Go figure. So now they’re having sex literally every spare moment to piss her off.”

Gamgee shouts, “Wot, your mother ‘n’ brother?”

“Ugh, no. _God,_ no. Dean’s got a complex, but it’s not nearly that bad.”

“I feel you, Winchester,” says Wilson. “My boyfriend’s boyfriend is staying with us--”

Vimes is taken aback. “Your boyfriend’s _what?”_

“It’s a long-ass story. But he’s back, and they’re suckin’ each other’s faces off all the damn time. Except Steve--that’s my boyfriend--he wound up kissing his ex-girlfriend’s niece after the ex died and--”

“That can’t be legal. How old is he?”

“Twenty-one going on ninety-six.”

Gamgee counts on his fingers. “He an elf?”

“At this point,” says Wilson, “anything’s possible. But now Bucky--that’s his boyfriend--he’s pissed off at Steve, and the two of us might be further complicating the situation by having hate sex.”

The room is completely silent.

“Jesus, somebody say somethin’,” Wilson says, tugging at his collar and looking sheepish.

Vimes exhales loudly. “And I thought _my_ life was complicated.”

“How’s your wizard situation, anyway?” asks Winchester.

He opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by Beckett leaping back into the proceedings.

“Please tell me we’re sharing right now,” he says in a rush.

“Floor’s yours,” Wilson says gratefully. Vimes stares at him in utter disapproval. “Come on, he’s gonna be here for like five minutes, tops.”

“I just leapt into a two-year-old,” Beckett explains, not giving Vimes time to audibly object. “I have no idea _when_ I am, but as for the _where,_ it’s in someone’s living room watching _Blue's Clues_.”

“You lost me after two-year-old,” says Vimes flatly, “but condolences all the same.”

“I’ve a littl’un,” Gamgee offers. “Such fun, they are!”

Beckett makes a noise that isn’t quite a whimper. “Her mother said something about needing lunch. Whatever it was looked nothing like food. Got pulled out just in time.”

“You really do have the worst out of all of us,” Winchester says sympathetically.

Wilson scoffs. “Did you miss the part where my boyfriend is cheating on both of his boyfriends with his ex-girlfriend’s niece? Because I sure as hell didn’t. Had to watch it from the car.”

“Cas thinks _Blue's Clues_ is adorable. Trust me; Beckett has it worse.”

“Never mind the whole never-going-to-get-home thing,” Beckett reminds them.

“That, too. Though I have been to Hell.”

“I’ve been t’ Mount Doom,” says Gamgee.

“Not exactly the same.”

Beckett opens his mouth to commiserate, then turns into a sheet of buzzing static and is gone.

“Okay, yeah,” says Wilson, “I think Beckett’s got it worst.”

“If I may continue?” Vimes asks, then goes on before anyone can reply. “It’s not even the wizards right now, which is something of a miracle. This time, the Alchemists’ Guild blew up their guild hall and most of the surrounding streets. It’s just one big crater, so no one’s really noticed yet, but they also managed to transmute everyone in the blast radius into tortoises.”

Winchester blinks several times. “I have no words. Which is pretty unusual.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why are you always so caustic?”

“Because _other_ _people.”_

Wilson shakes his head. “Look, maybe we oughta call it here for this month. The fight’s out there. In here, we’re just Sams.”

“And we are over other people’s shit,” say all of them together.

“Everyone still got the locator coins Vimes handed out?” When everyone nods or at least makes a sound approximate to yes, Wilson dismisses everyone. Vimes blips out immediately, and Gamgee does likewise after packing up the leftovers, which leaves Winchester and Wilson to do the cleaning up in a comfortable silence.

“Hey, Sam?” asks Wilson, coiling up the cord to Winchester’s laptop for him.

“Yeah?”

“You want to go grab a beer and talk about super soldiers with impractical sex drives?”

Winchester laughs. “I think I’d like that. Guessing Steve and Bucky have a refractory period about a minute long?”

“Mmhmm,” Wilson says with a sigh. “Dean and Cas?”

“Castiel apparently zaps Dean back into action as soon as they’re done. Which I got told over breakfast the first morning after.”

“Damn. That’s harsh.” Wilson hands the cord to Winchester and adds, “But at least they make you breakfast.”

“Dean does make amazing pancakes.” He bites his lip and averts his eyes shyly. “Maybe you should come over some time and try them. If, you know, that’s okay with your boyfriends.”

“If our relationship gets any more open, it’s just gonna be one non-stop superhero orgy with the whole team.”

“Then let’s go get that drink,” says Winchester, smiling. He grabs Wilson’s hand, shoulders his laptop bag, and flips his coin. Together, they disappear.

About ten minutes later, Beckett phases back into the room.

“Dammit,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea (well, something close to it, anyway) has been sitting on my personal fic prompt list for _months,_ and I finally sat down and made myself write it for the [SPN Coldest Hits June prompt "Triple Cross"](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/144852541565/june-posting-dates-15-18-june-june-rules). I chose baked potato, Sam, and Captain America/Marvel.
> 
> (If you're curious about all of the deleted comments, part of the SPN Coldest Hits competition involves promo wars. Since comments are worth the most number of points a piece (and the person with the lowest score wins the game), this leads to a metric fuckton of spam. I dislike Spam intensely and have thus trashed those comments entirely.)
> 
> You can find me on my [tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/). I also chirp occasionally witty things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan).
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


End file.
